She knew the hat was inappropriate, but she wore it for a cause. Falcon would understand its defiant message. She turned to the maid. "Shall we go?"
Her father waited at the bottom of the stairs and watched as she descended, his craggy features beaming. "You look as lovely as your dear mum did on our wedding day." The reference to her parents' blissful marriage caused her to realize how empty her own wedded life would be. The years stretched out long and lonely before her.
He gazed at her uncertainly. "But that hat..." He stared at its ornament. "What is that thing you dyed in Clockwork Blue?"
"I knew you would appreciate my latest creation, Papa," she said, tongue in cheek. "Are you ready?"
"I'll never understand women's fashions," he mumbled. Taking her hand, he squeezed it gently. "Are you happy, daughter? If you aren't, we can call this off."
She was tempted, truly she was... so much so that she opened her mouth to agree. However, Ramsey wasn't out of danger. And she suddenly had a crazy feeling that the Earl needed her. It was silly, but Betsy's fear had made Nicola want to charge to his rescue. He was the most misunderstood man she'd ever known. And she could do something about it. She squared her shoulders and gave her father a reassuring pat. "I'm fine, Papa. This is what I want."
If only to save Ramsey.
"All right, then." His mouth drew into a stoic line. He took her by the arm and escorted her to the front door. The tenants were waiting on the street. As Nicola stepped over the threshold into the bright sunlight, the crowd cheered.
A horse stood in front of the cottage. The buttermilk-colored palomino was dainty and beautiful, adorned with a bridle laced with twines of honeysuckle, the tail and mane braided with ribbons of violet and green. Nicola gave her father a questioning look.
He doffed his hat to rub his balding head. "A present from the Earl. He insists that you come to him on the animal."
A lump formed in her throat. The Earl's gesture was thoughtful, almost whimsical. "The mare is beautiful."
"I suppose it is," her father replied grudgingly. "I still have reservations about him, but—dash it all, I just want you to be happy."
"Don't worry, Papa—I will," she said, determined to be so. After all, happiness was a state of mind, right? And it was in her nature to be happy. She patted his shoulder.
She allowed him to assist her onto the sidesaddle, then adjusted her skirts. The crowd cheered again. At the end of the block, she could see the newly constructed white gazebo, compliments of her future husband. Inside the structure was Falcon with the vicar, awaiting her arrival so that the vows could be read—thus securing the yoke of marriage around her neck. Even Ramsey would be there to serve as a witness.
A woman called to her, flapping her hands boisterously. Recognizing Mrs. Wallis with her five young daughters, Nicola returned the wave.
"We know you'll tame the Black Falcon!" Mrs. Wallis called.
"Foolish woman," Nicola's father muttered.
Nicola rode toward the town square and her doom. A footman clothed in the Falcon livery of orange and black, led her horse. Her father walked beside the withers on the other side. Her wedding gown flared over the horse's rump. Crinoline scratched the back of her neck. Perspiration tickled her brow. She shifted in the sidesaddle several times in an attempt to get comfortable. The villagers continued to follow, their eyes full of hope and awe. Colorful flowers adorned their heads and decorated the streets. Despite the prickle of tiny thumbtacks stabbing the backs of her legs, Nicola realized her wedding day couldn't have been more beautiful.
Would one of Mrs. Wallis's daughters want to be in her place? she wondered. From the look of fascinated terror on their faces, she doubted it. Determination swept her as she noted their fear. If she accomplished one thing from this fiasco of a marriage, it would be to dispel the ridiculous superstition that surrounded the Black Falcon.
Someone called to Papa and he halted to talk to the man. Allegro perched on the tip of her mare's ear. A shimmering ball of gold, he hummed "Eroica" in his lilting voice. "Didn't I do well on the weather?"
Nicola frowned. "Where have you been? And don't tell me you had something to do with the weather."
His aura dimmed. "I did. You didn't know I have some ancient Celtic wizardry in me. I wanted to make it a perfect day for a perfect match."
"Please don't make me retch. I could ruin this faultless day."
Her father glanced up at her. "Did you say something, daughter?"
"No, Papa, just thinking out loud. I'm all right," she added when he gave her a worried look.
"Happiness is a state of mind, you do realize." Allegro skipped a jig between the horses ears.
She waved her hand as if she were warding off a bee."
"Now, lass, don't be a crosspatch."
She ignored him and stared moodily at the crowd, their faces beaming beneath lavish, deep-green laurels sprigged in ox-eye daisies, pink wild thyme and blue bells. Little Amy, one of Mrs. Wallis's children, waved and grasped a handful of petals from the white basket dangling on her arm. The young girl threw them in front of the palomino. "To protect you from the Black Falcon," she called.
An old Saxon superstition. Nicola bit her lip to keep from protesting. She would have to think long and hard on what to do to get rid of their false notions.
The air was sweet with fragrances of flowers and herbs. She glanced to the end of the street and the town square, where the gazebo glistened like a gilded cage. Her stomach churned at the knowledge that she would be trapped in such a cage for the rest of her days.
Allegro smiled encouragingly. "Come now, don't be so glum. You look lovely. You merely have a case of bridal jitters. Tis only natural. Desssstinnnnny," he sang from his perch on the horse's ear. The horse suddenly twitched and Allegro somersaulted through the air.
Laughter erupted from her. It sounded more like strained choking.
Her father reached for her hand. "Nicola—"
"Really, Papa. I know I'm acting strange today, but this isn't simply any day so don't I have the privilege to get the bridal jitters?"
"Of course, Nikki." Her father patted her on the arm.
The whirling Allegro had landed on top of the gazebo. Wildflowers decorated the opening. Beaming, Allegro bent over and peered between the slats.
Nicola halted her horse and looked inside. Ramsey stood with Falcon, who smiled at something Ramsey had said, lighting his whole expression. Her breath caught at the beauty of that smile.
He glanced at her and looked past her shoulder, then returned his attention to her, his eyes widening with sudden recognition. As he inspected her, his gaze glinted with approval. She had never been the recipient of such masculine appreciation, and the excitement that prickled her skin made her shiver with joy. She stared at those full lips that curved at the comers.
She fantasized about the kiss. She had only experienced his lips on her temple and on her palm. What would happen when their lips finally met? How much more powerful would such an experience be? Malcolm filled the entryway to the gazebo, his dark head barely clearing the top. Tan trousers hugged his muscular form. The cut of his dark waistcoat showed off his trim waistline and flared upward to encompass his powerful shoulders. The light gray of his compelling gaze was in contrast with the swarthiness of his skin. His masculine appeal made her jittery inside. She gulped, wondering how she could survive any further intimacies with him, and keep her heart intact.
In an attempt to escape the intensity of his gaze, she lowered her own, then froze. His cravat had been dyed in Clockwork Blue. Her euphoria collapsed as she remembered the reason for this farce of a marriage.
The color glistened in the early morning sun. He wore it like a conquering hero, parading his spoils for everyone to see. Her blood boiled.
His expression challenged her. He stepped down from the platform and walked to where she sat on her white mare. She stared at his cravat and reached up to toy with the decoration on her hat. "Just like the mushroom taking ove
r the forest, you're invading and taking over my life," she murmured, pointing the stem of the small umbrella like frippery at him.
He stared at it with a puzzled frown… then grinned. Laughed. "What a beautiful Clockwork Blue mushroom." Wrapping his strong hands around her waist, he gently lowered her to the ground. His warm breath smelled like apples. Did he like to eat them cut in wedges or whole? she wondered frantically as the ceremony loomed nearer. He brushed his lips against her ear. "Invaded? Not yet, but you soon will be... tonight in my bed. And I promise that you'll enjoy every moment."
The strange warmth she'd experienced when he'd kissed her fluttered in her stomach. Would those syrupy feelings be the same when he took her to his bed? When they consummated their marriage? Would they burn with the fires of passion?
Or would he find her wanting?
He took her fingers and brushed his lips against them. She could feel his breath through the white cloth of her gloves. He lifted his dark head. "The Clockwork Blue is mine, just as you are."
Anger engulfed her arousal. She lifted her chin. "No, after this day, you are mine."
He gave her a startled glance.
Nicola realized the crowd had grown silent. She glanced around and saw that most of their gazes snagged on Falcon, their expressions that of morbid enthrallment.
He drew her hand into the crook of his arm and led the way to where the vicar stood inside the gazebo—toward her life of bondage.
Ramsey gazed at her with a silly grin.
Vicar Thompson spread his broad lips in a smile. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together this man and this woman..."
Nicola half-listened, her thoughts on Falcon, this stranger she was about to wed. He was an enigma, as foreign to her as those Chinese puzzles she had seen years ago in London. She tried to swallow moisture down her suddenly parched throat, then glanced at the vicar's bobbing Adam's apple as he spoke the condemning words.
Sounds of weeping caught her attention. Glissando sat in a potted arrangement of pansies with a good-sized handkerchief covering his face, shoulders heaving with every hiccupped sob. Large tears splashed down on the flowers, causing the blossoms to grow and brighten before her very eyes. One bloom in particular—a daffodil amid the pink and purple pansies—stretched and arched before metamorphosing into Allegro. As he took his true form, he sang:
Sorrow and doubt today,
love with a husband and children tomorrow,
will pave the way
to a destiny filled with happiness to follow.
Glissando howled with fresh despair, even as Allegro laughed and twirled backward in an acrobatic move that bounced him off the smooth surface of the vicar's bald head. The pixies' diversity in moods only underscored the uncertainty of her life with the Earl.
The vicar stopped talking, Allegro stopped humming—even Glissando ceased his wailing—and a sense of doom penetrated the air. Before she quite realized it, Falcon was giving his vow.
"I will take Nicola Moore as my wife." The expression in his eyes was so possessive that she trembled.
The vicar repeated the question for her.
She turned to give Falcon a steely look. She was determined to let him know that he couldn't cast her aside like one of his old Remingtons. "I vow to keep Malcolm Addison close by my side, through thick or thin, come rain or shine, if the heavens rumble and huge fissures tear apart the lands—for better or for worse."
A startled silence greeted her. The vicar wore a strange expression that twisted his bushy brows, as if he suddenly saw Allegro perched on top of her head. At Falcon's silence, she slowly turned toward him. His eyes burned like molten silver.
"My new countess will fulfill my every dream, then."
The vicar flashed a wide smile at Falcon, and Nicola knew the look for what it was; that all-knowing one that men give when they think they know what women want.
In supplication, the vicar raised his hands. "O eternal God, send thy blessing upon thy servants whom we pray for in thy name as Falcon and Nicola live faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made." His plump cheeks ruddy, the vicar said to Falcon, "You may now kiss the bride."
Falcon took her in his arms, and Nicola's head spun as his warmth surrounded her. Her first kiss. His firm lips descended and then melded over hers. That kiss rocked her to her toes—caused her to shiver, then burn, then melt with a passion for which courtesans yearned and nuns shunned. As he lifted his head, Malcolm's dark eyes burned with intensity. She knotted her gloved fingers together and hoped the world would stop spinning soon.
The ceremony ended too quickly. All the ramifications of this alliance flitted through her head. Soon she would be entering Windmere as a countess, a place in which she'd never before set foot. The responsibility hit her with the force of a ton of bricks. Before she quite realized what was happening, Malcolm had handed her into the carriage that the coachman had driven up to the dais.
Malcolm settled next to her, his thigh brushing against hers.
"To what have I agreed? I don't know anything about being a countess." She twisted in her seat. The jolt of the carriage as it leaped forward rocked her against his chest, bringing her face dangerously close to his.
"I meant what I said, Nicola," Falcon whispered, kissing the comer of her mouth. "You can be your own woman."
His actions distracted her, and her mind didn't register what he said. Her face felt flushed. She tried to push away, but a strange weakness prevented her. "I do have some... experience running my father's household, although his is nothing like Windmere," she mumbled.
"You can pursue your original plans. And the small changes, such as occasionally sharing my bed, will be enjoyable, if your reaction to my kisses is any indication."
Irritated, she pushed at his shoulders. "Cogs. You are so incredibly assured that any woman would swoon in gratitude just to be in your bed."
"You may not faint when you climb into it, but you will before you climb out." He leaned back and gave a wicked grin.
She glared at him. "Don't be so sure."
"I think thou dost protest too much, my lady. So soft, so responsive." He traced the side of her neck with a broad finger, then tilted her chin and brushed his thumb against her lower lip. She felt as if she'd been struck by lightning. He was arrogant, a menace. She knew it—so why was her heart pounding and her breath coming in gasps?
The carriage ride was too short for them to be at Windmere, but already the coach began to slow. Falcon broke off the kiss.
"Why are we stopping?" she asked.
"I want to present my wedding gift to you."
Surprised, she lifted her brows. "What gift?"
"It's a tradition in my family. I couldn't bring the present to you, so I brought you to it." He gestured outside.
She looked through the curtained window of the coach and was surprised to discover herself in front of the abandoned shop she'd coveted. The shutters had been painted a dainty pink and there were flowers in the window boxes. A sign proclaiming Nicola's millinery was posted above the door. "You bought a shop for me?" she asked, as he assisted her out of the carriage.
"Of course." He grasped her hand and led her to the door. When he looked at her, his expression was warm.
She touched the freshly painted doorframe, awed and confused. "This is absolutely incredible. So, you truly don't mind my enterprise?"
"Not in the least. You are an independent, intelligent woman, Nicola, and I want to help you fulfill your dreams."
With slightly-shaking fingers, she took the key he offered. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside and gasped. Thick, cut-pile Wilton carpeting covered the floor. Paintings adorned the walls, and a Basaltware urn stood in one corner, giving the place a prosperous but welcoming atmosphere. Mirrored vanities had been placed artfully about the room. A group of tables with tea sets for waiting customers was strategically arranged, and a pianoforte stood in o
ne comer. She opened a door and saw a spacious workroom
"I don't know what to say," Nicola whispered, overwhelmed. Already she could see how to display her hats, and for once she could be organized. On the table to the left in the workroom she could keep bolts of cloth, then cut and sew strips together in the comer. Supplies already prepared and ready to adorn the hats could be in the middle, along with the varying styles and shapes of bonnets. She could store the finished creations on the table close to the door for easy retrieval.
She brushed past Falcon and went into the salon once more, studying the urn. Copper and steel washers, a brass file, and the filigree from the face of an old clock had been molded in with the clay before baking, making the centerpiece a source of discussion. She marveled over the hat stands, made from sleek, shiny steel, the branches arching gracefully from the pole. The rich mahogany pianoforte begged a person to run a hand over the surface. "This is absolutely marvelous—I can already envision the shop filled with customers."
Clockwork Blue (The Lumière Chronicles) Page 15
